


going out with a bang

by TheMostPsychotic (ymirjotunn)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, alphaverse, rebel sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 12:31:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymirjotunn/pseuds/TheMostPsychotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose is still not sure if she loves him, but he is all she has, and together they are going to go out with a bang.</p><p>Pun fully intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. going out

**Author's Note:**

> probably not totally canon??? oh well sorry
> 
> also did a pretty hasty edit on this let me know if you see anything i fucked up :'D

She admires herself in the mirror, does a full 360 turn.

"Thought you were supposed to put on clothes before you did the model thing," he mumbles from the bed through a mouthful of cigarette.

"I'm embracing my body image," she retorts. Spinning, glancing back at him flopped on her bed in only his boxers, getting his filthy cigarette smoke all over her previously floral-scented room, she gives him a grimace (this is her version of a cheeky smile and he knows it) and says, "Besides, it's not as if you dislike it."

"Guilty as charged," he says. His eyes, naked for once in his life, roam up and down her body, because he's allowed. Anyone else would have had knitting needles through their eyeballs twenty minutes ago.

"The awards ceremony is in an hour," she says, thoughtful. "That's not much time. We procrastinated on our little pièce de résistance and now we will pay the price."

"Wanna do it next time? It's not like we won't be invited to another one."

She runs a hand through her mess of white-blonde hair - she does have an awful lot, when it's not tied up in the neat beehive she's so fond of wearing (ironically, he insists to all of his business buddies). "No, no, tonight is the night."

"Well, let's get this show on the road, then."

"Get rid of that awful cigarette first. And do brush your teeth. God, what on earth is the attraction of tobacco?"

"Pisses you off," he says, with the very cheeky smile that is her grimace's equal, and then rolls off her bed and lopes into the bathroom.

She sets up the tripod and camera with an artist's touch. They have already done a few takes of this, but obviously those few scenes are not enough. If they really want to send a nice fuck-you to Her Condescension, they've got to do better than that.

He breezes back into the room. He has, certainly in consideration of ease of access, already removed his boxers.

"Shades," she says.

"Thanks for the reminder, dollface." He picks them up and slides them on. "Video running?"

"It certainly is." 

"This the last scene?"

"For the love of God, I hope not." She gives him a coy half-smile and brushes back her hair. "Shall we?"

"Mmm, we shall," he murmurs, and she falls into his arms and onto the bed.

As with all their scenes, they must begin with foreplay. This consists mostly of kissing, plenty of kissing, and he has always been rather fond of her breasts so she lets him play with those for a few minutes before she becomes impatient.

"What're we doing this time," he mumbles into her mouth.

"Hmmm," she says, pulling back a second to consider. "Anal? Have we done that one yet?"

"Last week, sugar. Your memory faulty or something?"

"Maybe you just weren't all that memorable, darling."

"Hah, likely."

"We did do cunnilingus already."

"You sure that wasn't with one of your lady friends?"

She gives him a dirty look. "Excuse me, I remember every time someone has had their head down in my crotch, and you were definitely one of them."

"Huh," he says, holding back a smirk. She sees it lingering in the muscles around his mouth. "Hurry up and think of something, babe, I'm gonna lose my boner."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Yours," he says immediately. She lowers her lashes at him and he shrugs like he's innocent.

"I can't just jack you off, that's not nearly sensational enough," she muses.

"Aw, fuck it, let's just do the full hetero," he says.

She lowers her lips to his jaw and kisses, leaving a smudge of black lipstick. "I have no objections."

So they do the full hetero, so to speak, but just doing it on the bed would probably bore Her Condescension, so they make sure to stand up and gyrate (albeit a little awkwardly) over to the camera. He makes noises louder than she's heard in any pornography, so she one-ups him with a moan that makes him nod in appreciative acknowledgement.

At one point they tilt the camera toward their genitals, and then, in a stroke of what she is sure must be some sort of genius, he tilts it right back up at their faces and they both, perfectly synchronised, display all the middle fingers they possess (which is four in total).

He comes in her and she does not come at all, but she is used to that at this point, mostly because she is not interested in men. She is only interested in Dave. Sometimes. Tonight is not one of those nights; it is too big a night and she is too stressed.

He pulls her off of him with a courteous gentleness that she generally does not expect from him, and sits her up on the bed, and turns to the camera for one last rude gesture, then flicks it off.

"You did well," she says finally.

"Nah, I'm pretty sure that was mostly you that time. The moan was good, Lalonde. I'll give you that."

"I wish I liked you more." She sounds vaguely wistful. She wonders if he notices. He probably does; what about one another do they not notice, these days?

"You couldn't like me more if you tried."

"You can't try to like someone, dear."

He comes to sit next to her on the bed. "Half hour."

"Better start editing," she says.

"Won't take long."

And of course it does not, with his skills. She watches in a sort of stunned confusion as his fingers fly over Windows Movie Maker and somehow turn their writhing bodies and brandished middle fingers into something truly deserving of an Oscar.

"I got mad skills," he says, content, when the final product fades from the screen.

"You do," she says. "Both in the theatre and in bed."

"Thank you," he says, getting up with a exaggerated curtsy. "Time to shower?"

"On any other night I might suggest we do so together, but on this night..." She pauses.

"You're stressed, I gotcha. Want me to pop some lesbian porn in the limo Blu Ray?"

She usually saves her middle fingers for the Condesce, but some situations call for desperate measures.

He sticks out his tongue at her and wanders off to find his suit, which he's probably left in the fridge again. He does that sort of thing to piss her off, because when she opens the fridge looking for a strawberry Yoplait she does not need a pile of unwashed formalwear to come crashing down on her head.

She, on the other hand, is logical, and not only has more than two formal outfits but keeps them all in a closet. A startling revelation indeed!

She pulls out the violet velvet one, admires the alliteration briefly, and then slips it over her body. Bras are for wimps and this dress has a low back. She has nice shoulder blades. He always says so.

She is just tying up her hair into her customary style when he comes in whining about not being able to tie his tie. She is, by now, well-used to his nonsense, and fixes it in one deft swoop of her hand.

"You got mad skills, too," he says, watching her apply her lipstick.

"Thank you," she says, a little curt. She is not in the mood for flirting tonight. Perhaps it was not the best night to be finishing their little project.

This was the best chance they had, though. Things were already bad enough, and what with the upcoming election...

Well, they all knew what was going to happen, and it wasn't going to be good.

"Limo's here," he says, glancing out of the window.

"It's time, then?"

"Yeah, you ready?"

She is silent.

He slips a hand into hers. "You're not ready."

"Will I ever be?" she says, so softly she thinks he might not even hear her.

"You let me know if I'm layin' it on too thick tonight," he says, and she's not sure if he heard or just kindly chose to ignore it.

"Thank you for thinking of my happiness," she says wryly.

"No problem, babe."


	2. doing this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Press play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> youth rolls off a cliff

So they get in the limo and they ride to the awards ceremony and he doesn't sit too close to her. She appreciates that. If there's one thing he understands, it's that sometimes she needs space.

Of course, when they get to the ceremony he will cling to her like a remora, because it is what the media expects.

She fingers the flash drive in her purse and imagines all the things the media does not expect that will be happening tonight.

"Ms. Lalonde, Mr. Strider," the limo driver says over the divide. "We're here."

"Lovely," she says, uncrossing her legs daintily. "Mr. Strider, will you do the honour of escorting me in?"

He glances up at her, tips his shades down a fraction of an inch to give her a little wink, and gets out to open her door. The lights of flash photography appear, insistent, at the edge of her vision, and she breathes deeply in preparation for what is going to either be a very long or very short night.

Her own door opens, and he bends down to take her hand. "Be my pleasure, ma'am," he says in a low voice, pressing his lips to the back of her hand.

"Such a charmer," she murmurs, smiling for the cameras.

"Lalonde," someone yells as she steps out. "When's your next book due?"

"What is she, pregnant?" Dave yells back at him. Some four or five teenage girls who've somehow finagled their way to the red carpet swoon at this. Rose doesn't think they're able to fully appreciate the genius of her companion, but then, who is she to say she does?

"Is it true, Ms. Lalonde?" someone else screams, thrusting a microphone in her face. "Are you really pregnant?"

"Yes, she's going to be the mother of octuplets," Dave shouts, shoving his face into the microphone. "Make sure you write that down. That's spelled O C T U P L E T. Four boys four girls - excuse me, sir, are you writing that down?"

"Ms. Lalonde, are you and Dave Strider going to be married?"

"Next week," Dave shouts.

"Ms. Lalonde! Over here, Rose, let us get a few pictures!"

She shoots Dave a half-glance and he adjusts his shades in her direction. "'Scuse us, Rose needs to sit down, rest her feet for the babies' sakes. That's eight babies, folks, shit ain't comfy."

"Ms. Lalonde, are you really pregnant?"

"She is really pregnant and we really got married in Bermuda last month," Dave yells over the roar of the crowd and practically carries her across the red carpet and into the building.

"Thank you," she murmurs into the curve of his neck as they take their seats.

"Just doin' my job, ma'am," he says in a fake-husky voice.

They are the tenth presenters and it is nowhere near their time yet, so they sit back and try to enjoy the show. It does not work very well. She's too stressed.

"Hey," he says, after he gets up to accept his award for Best Original Score. He already has three awards lined up at his feet for various aspects of his most recent SBaHJ. "We're up in a couple of minutes."

"Okay," she says. "Do you need the drive?"

The host leaves the stage and a new presenter steps up, and an usher waves at Rose from the wings. The cameras see Dave taking her hand and following the usher backstage; only she and he are aware that in taking her hand he is also taking the flash drive that will set this plan in motion.

He stops by the tech desk, waves at the usher, and says, holding the drive out, "Been an edit to our whatever it's called. Video thing? Anyway, just play this."

"I've got to authorize it," the techie says.

"No time, just run the thing," Dave tells him.

The techie sighs, as if he holds all the problems of the world on his scrawny shoulders. Likely. "Fine."

The usher points the way to the stage, and this is it. 

"We don't have a lot of time," he says under his breath, so quietly Rose can barely hear it herself. "You ready for a life on the run?"

"Well, I'm certainly not ready to act as sitting duck for an outraged alien empress."

"See you on the flip side?"

She nods.

"Let's do this."

Befitting his name, he strides out on stage, Rose gliding at his hip, and before he even reaches the mic he raises his hands in a gesture of solidarity, and the crowd cheers as if he is a celebrity. Which he happens to be.

"Folks, have we got a surprise for you tonight," he says into the mic.

"A few of you might enjoy it," she adds. "A few of you..." This is her cue to do her trademark half-smile, just a little wicked.

"Suffice it to say, this one goes out to the Condesce," Dave says, pointing to the sky with his free hand, and a murmur goes through the crowd. Not everyone knows about the Condesce. Scratch that - they know she exists, and they know that they are to respect (fear?) her, but they don't know the half of what they're getting into. There are some people, however, who are already in the know. Those are the people with startled, worried looks on their faces.

Because when this is over, the Condesce is going to destroy this building, and all the people in it.

Such a sacrifice for something so trivial, she remembered arguing with Dave, but he reminded her of the visions she has had - this is the least of the sacrifices that will be made, and at least some people might have the sense to escape before the Condesce makes her move.

"And with that, enjoy," Dave says with a smirk, and the movie he so painstakingly made begins on the screen behind them.

She wishes she could stay and enjoy the movie, but they have places to go, places that aren't about to be annihilated by Her Condescension's drones. Besides, she's already seen it. She's already lived it.

The first of the moans start up just as you reach the exit door, and the gasps just moments later. She pulls open the passenger door and her knight in shining armour and a pair of sunglasses slides into the seat just across from her.

"Let's go," she says.


End file.
